


All Bark and No Bite

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, heartrubs, this is some Good Shit my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex and Neo have a... weekend routine, you could call it. Ex is an insufferable prick, and Neo gets his revenge. At least, he usually does. Things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Bark and No Bite

                He's a fucking asshole. Through-and-through. You could swear that he spends every waking moment trying to make your life hell. You hate him. You despise the fake, overly-cheery TV persona he keeps on all the time, like the 'off' switch in his head was permanently disabled. You loathe his too-white smile, his bubbly laugh, and jesus fucking christ on a cracker you fucking detest the way he flirts with everything. It makes your proverbial blood boil. Every time he opens his mouth, you want to deck him straight in his perfectly-made-up face. Maybe that would take him down a few notches. Frankly, just hearing his voice pisses you off. It's bad enough that his face is plastered in posters all over the Underground, and it _really_ doesn't help that his voice crackles through speakers any time you go anywhere.

 

                The worst part is spending every second of every day knowing you look _exactly like him_. Exactly like him but better, you try to tell yourself. Hotter. Much less fucking annoying. More combat-ready. Honestly, it's a losing battle. At least you don't have the same obnoxious preening habits. You spike your hair to the side to show off the finished side of your face just to piss him off, and that's it. You like to think that the rest comes naturally. You aren't exactly alike, thankfully. You're taller, build more solidly with less curves and more, er, showy bits. Like the ridiculous shoulder spikes that light up when you're angry. And the cannon. The fucking cannon. It's probably the second bane of your existence, other than him. Did anyone ever think about how hard it is to function normally with a fucking cannon for a hand? Obviously not.

 

                It also really doesn't help that when you get frustrated, it tends to heat up. That's really not helpful when you don't want to melt whatever the fuck you're holding. Or burn something. Such as yourself. It does come in handy when you're with him, though. Like when he pulls you along on one of his obnoxious outings to some shopping mall in the heart of the Capital. The two of you end up gathering a crowd that follows you - mostly him - around, and while he stands there and looks pretty and flirts, you jab the heated end of your cannon into his back. The noise he makes is adorable, honestly. It almost makes you hate him a little less, until he winks at you or, god forbid, blows you a kiss. That makes you want to shoot him in the goddamn face.

 

                It's almost like a little game the two of you play, him purposefully pissing you off more and more until you retaliate. Usually it ends up in some lewd situation with your hand around his throat in a public bathroom. Sometimes, you make it back to his house before slamming him against a wall. Today, it didn't quite go according to plan.

 

\---

 

                The day had started off as usual, with him banging on your door at an obnoxiously early hour, calling for you in the tone that he knew set you on edge. You took a ridiculously long time getting ready, longer than usual, just to piss him off. By the time you finally opened the door, he was standing there with his arms crossed and a perfect pout on his stupidly perfect face. Ugh.

 

                "And you say I spend too much time in front of a mirror, darling."

 

                That fucking pet name. He uses it every other goddamn sentence and it makes you want to scream. If there was any word you despised the most, that would be it. Just hearing him call you that made your fucking skin crawl. It always has. You don't even bother giving him the satisfaction of any sort of response, instead walking past him and shutting the door. He eagerly skipped past you and took hold of your hand, pulling you forwards at a disgustingly cheerful pace. You wanted to pull your hand out of his and slap him, make him moan like he does during your little... sessions. _Later_ , you promise yourself. Instead, you let him pull you along.

 

                The day out itself was rather uneventful. Different mall, different stores, different fans, but more or less the same as all the other times you go out together. Him flirting, you teasing him subtly, the like. You were smugly confident, thinking you had him wrapped around your little finger, desperate and needy as usual. Oh, how wrong you were.

 

                Fast forward a bit. You had reached his house, and, walking inside after him, you had it all carefully planned out. That was how you passed the time, on these weekly outings. While he tried on clothes and was oohed and ahhed over by various fans and employees, you sat back and planned exactly how you were going to fuck him. Forcing him down and _making_ him drop his pretentious attitude made the entire day worth it.

 

                The door shuts and the lock clicks into place behind you, and you smile to yourself. Stepping forward, you grab his shoulder and spin him back towards you, continuing forwards and slamming him into the wall. There's a half-second where the two of you make direct eye contact, and he's fucking _smirking_ , oh _god_ , and then your world is spinning, you weren't expecting this, there's a wall against your back and holy fucking _shit his teeth are already on your neck._

 

                The noise you make is possibly the worst thing you've ever heard, second only to his voice. His arm is across your chest, holding you back against the wall with strength you didn't even know he had until now. You're not letting him do this to you. Absolutely not. Especially not after the way he acted in the mall. It always went like that, him strutting around and showing off, then you fucking him into the mattress and making him scream for you. You weren't about to give him the day _and_ the evening, no sir.

 

                Actually, now that you thought about it, you were pretty willing to, especially as his other hand snakes down between your bodies, slipping down your thigh and between your legs. _Fuck._ Gentle isn't a word in his vocabulary. You know this by now. You figure out just how far from being in his vocabulary it is as he grinds the heel of his hand into you, making your knees weak and your head slam back against the wall. Again, you make the most pathetic, winy noise, and you instantly hate yourself for it.

 

                This wasn't supposed to happen. The evening was supposed to be yours. You take a deep breath, trying to find your strength. Then, gritting your teeth, you push away from the wall, against him. He stumbles back a step, almost hitting the other side of the narrow entryway, looking almost surprised before he looks back up at you, his lips curling into another almost _feral_ smirk that makes your stomach clench. He steps forward slowly, raising his eyebrows at you like he was innocent.

 

                "Now, now, pet, is that how you want to treat me?"

 

                He lets his words hang in the air for a moment. His tone sends shivers down your spine, an infuriatingly perfect mix of that bubbly tone he uses for TV and a dripping alluringness. Before you can sort yourself out enough to come up with a reply, he slams you backwards again, showing more of the unbridled strength you had seen the start of earlier. His hand curls around your throat, fingers digging into the prosthetic flesh. He shoves his leg between yours, his thigh pressing up against you in a way that makes you gasp, sharply, your hips pressing back against him despite you trying to keep yourself together. Which isn't going very well, by the way. You're quickly becoming a fucking mess against the wall, your cannon sparking just a little bit.

 

                He kisses down your jawline, uncharacteristically gently, and despite your efforts, you tilt your head back and fucking _whine_. It's official. You really do despise him. Except for the fact that it's _really_ hard to hate someone when they're currently grinding against you with their hand around your throat. _God_ , you hate yourself for admitting that he's turning you on like this. You can't help the fact that your hips are rocking back down against his leg. It's almost involuntary. You almost want to stop caring, stop fighting him and let him take control, but your pride won't let you. Of course not. So, obviously, that means you have to try and push back against him again. This time, you hardly make it an inch off the wall before his entire body is pressed against yours, and he's growling in your ear, his hip digging almost uncomfortably into your equally-as-uncomfortable boner.

 

                "One more time and you'll be on your knees begging. Is that what you want?"

 

                _Fuck_. Just his tone alone is enough to make you groan softly, your eyes slipping shut. You can't even form a proper sentence, that's how desperate you are. Naturally, the first witty remark you have in response is something _so_ scathing and perfect.

 

                "Fuck you."

 

                Quality burn right there, folks. Unfortunately, it's the wrong thing to say. Or right, depending on how you want to look at it. Before you can even blink, he's moving you again, this time by your hand. He's pulling you further into the house, towards the bed. You're dazed, still desperately hard, and you nearly stumble on the way there. You recover, but only momentarily; the second you're close enough he sends you sprawling on the bed, face-first. It takes you half a second to process what happened, but then you're moving, turning to look at him.

 

                "Not so fast, darling. It's _my_ show tonight."

 

                He slams a knee into your back, forcing you down against the bed. The covers are soft against your skin, cool to the touch, and you try for a moment to center yourself on that, absolutely _NOT_ grinding your hips down against the bed while doing so. His knee lifts and disappears, but for once, thank god, you know better than to try and pull anything smart. More than likely he's just looking for another reason to slam you into something, and you must admit it's getting a little old.

 

                "Don't you _dare_ try anything."

 

                That's an order, without question. His tone is steely and has that edge of dominance that, for some reason, makes you even harder, and you reach down almost without thinking. He pulls your arm back, landing a sharp hit on your ass, making your hips jerk forward, against the bed. You try to swallow back the most undignified _whimper_ , but it creeps out anyways. He clicks his tongue, grasping your other arm.

 

                "I warned you, darling."

 

                He wraps something around your upper arm, and immediately, you instinctively want to pull away, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to stay still. Your entire body is thrumming, but whether it's from anger, nerves, being turned on, or an awkward mix of the three, you can't tell.

 

                "This is what happens when you disobey me."

 

                Rope. He's wrapping rope around your arms, weaving it back and forth and in on itself quickly, tying your arms together from just under the shoulders down. Your cannon is pressed against your hand, the heated metal only a little uncomfortable. You'll have to remember not to burn yourself, or you'll have a hell of a time trying to explain it to Alphys later. The ends of the rope drop against your body, and you shudder. There's a moment of stillness before he grabs the uppermost part of his spiderwebbing ropework, pulling you up easily. He basically drags you off the bed, forcing you down to your knees. He disappears for a moment again, but before you even have the chance to collect yourself and move, he's back, wrapping what you assume to be more rope around your ankles. _Fuck_.

 

                "Now you won't have the _chance_ to escape, pet."

 

                You want to scream. He's so fucking _smug_ , it makes you sick. You can't move, you can't get up off your knees, and he's stepping around you and his fucking finger is under your chin, making you look up, and _his expression makes your gut clench_. You refuse to look at him, instead glaring off to the side. He clicks his tongue and grabs your jaw more firmly.

 

                "Look at me."

 

                It's probably a bad idea to ignore him. More than probably, you _know_ it's a bad idea. A horrible idea, actually. And yet, here you are, still not looking at him. He sighs impatiently and you see his hand go back out of the corner of your eye. You grit your teeth and close your eyes, but you're still sent reeling by how hard he hits you. His hand on your jaw keeps you from falling over, but if he hadn't been holding you up, you would be sprawled on the floor in front of him.

 

                "One would think you'd _learn_ , darling. Now do yourself a favor and look at me."

 

                Grudgingly, you look up. Despite how much you absolutely detest him having any sort of power over you, you're getting desperate. You're so hard it's painful, and you're _so_ close to breaking entirely and begging him to fuck you. But, of course, you wouldn't. You're not _that_ low. He smirks down at you, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. You want to move, to straddle his lap and push him down, have your way with him. You almost try, tugging against the rope holding you down before you remember that he's the one in control here. That alone is enough to make your cannon heat up and your dick ache.

 

                "What to do now, hm? I have you all tied on the floor underneath me, helpless..."

 

                He chuckles, the sound dark and definitely not making you choke back a groan.

 

                "Any suggestions, darling? After all, I know how much you _love_ being in control."

 

                "Shut the fuck up."

 

                The words make it out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you glance up with horror in your gut just in time to watch his expression shift from one of confident smugness to pure dominance with a hint of anger. You're still gaping like an idiot, fishing for words. He stands up briefly, slipping his fingers into your hair and yanking you forward, forcing you to awkwardly shuffle towards him and the bed as fast as you could to avoid your hair being ripped from your head. The pain makes your head spin, it makes the end of your canon spark, it makes you fucking _whine_.

 

                "What was that?"

 

                He laughs this time, and _god_ do you fucking hate his laugh. You're glaring up at him now, trying to put as much hatred as you can into your eyes. It isn't working very well, considering right now your hatred pales in comparison to how badly you want him to fuck you absolutely senseless. But, of course, you would never admit that to yourself. Just like how you would never let yourself get in positions like these in the first place. Which, you unfortunately remember, isn't going so well. One of his fucking pink-heeled feet pushes in between your thighs, nudging them open. You know better than to not let him, and besides, you fucking _want_ him to touch you. As soon as he comes close, you whimper, wordlessly begging him for more. You don't care how you sound any more, you're so fucking needy and desperate. The toe of his boot presses against you, and you can hardly stifle a moan, your hips jerking forward. He hooks a finger under your chin, making you look up, and the look he gives you makes your stomach turn with revulsion.

 

                "Look at you, pet, so _needy_ already. You must know I'm not just going to give you what you want. After all, it's _my_ turn to own you."

 

                He presses against you, dragging the toe of his boot up along the underside of your cock. You moan softly, the noise shaky, unwilling. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing what he wants to hear. His legs open wider, and he moves forward, to the edge of the bed, still working his toe against you, making it hard for you to breathe.

 

                "Come here."

 

                You awkwardly shuffle forward, gritting your teeth against a moan. One of his hands slips into your hair again, cupping the back of your head and pulling it forward, until your nose presses against his body, just below his heart. He makes a soft noise, digging his perfectly-manicured nails into your head. You wince, looking up to glare at him. It's a pretty powerful glare - until he decides to yank your head back, making you whine. Your cannon is almost painfully hot against your other arm by now.

 

                "I'm going to let you take a wild guess at what I want you to do next."

 

                His little _smile_ makes you want to scream. You'll do everything but give him what he wants, you don't care how much he tortures you. He's not even touching you anymore, and you're so close to losing it completely and begging, but you won't let him win. Your pride won't let you. He lets your head go, and you shift back down, starting from the very end of his thigh and working your way inward, kissing and nipping the prosthetic flesh. Once you reach the juncture between hip and thigh, you kiss a careful arc over where he wants your mouth, making him hiss out a curse and dig his nails into your head. You can't help but smile against his leg as you work your way inwards again, feeling him open his legs a fraction as you near his core.

 

                "Stop teasing, darling."

 

                His voice is just the right mix of breathy and commanding, and you look up at him, feigning innocence.

 

                "What else do you want me to do, _master_?"

 

                He tightens his grip on your hair, groaning softly. You blink, making a soft noise, raising your eyebrows in mock confusion. Before he even moves, you know it was a mistake to play innocent. One of his hands comes flying out of nowhere, sending you reeling. He yanks you back by your hair, glaring down at you.

 

                "How about you start by doing your job like a good little _slut_?"

 

                He spits the last word out, pressing your face against him, warmth and moisture seeping through his leggings. You take a deep breath, shoving down a wave of self-loathing, and start mouthing messily at him through the thin material. He sighs, high-pitched and short, one hand staying firmly on the back of your head. Your eyes slide shut, and you slow down, pressing the flat of your tongue against him, smiling at the tiny _whine_ you pull out of him.

 

                "Am I going to be allowed to touch you or do I have to eat you out through leggings?"

 

                There's much more sass in your voice than you intend, and the slap you get in return is a shock, but nothing you weren't expecting. Your face is on fire, and you can't tell the difference between blushing and actual pain from being hit. You can't help but whine softly, pressing your thighs together and shifting, desperate for any sort of contact. He notices, of course he does, and he yanks you up by the hair again, pressing you against his heart. It's already wet - there are little beads of shimmery fluid running down the outside of it. You take initiative, licking a broad stripe up it.

 

                "N-Now, darling. You know there's more than one way to pleasure me."

 

                You can hear him trying to hold back noises. His voice is strained and breathy, and you don't even bother responding, instead starting to messily kiss and mouth at his heart. It's warm and soft, the texture almost like silk, the liquid oozing from its surface sweet and thick. He curls his fingers harder into your hair and you wince at the pain, muffling a whine against his heart, working your tongue against it. You're so hard and desperate it's actually painful, and once you start making tiny noises against him, you can't stop. He's breathing hard and fast, arching his back and pressing himself into your face. One of his hands leaves your head, presumably to cover his mouth, and it just spurs you on more, going so far as to press your teeth gently into it, smiling at the gasp you get from him.

 

                "Fuck, nngh, pet-"

 

                That's exactly what you want; to hear him start to break. You abandon your pride and close your eyes, pressing your face against him. You don't care how messy you get, you're determined to make him whine your name. He hisses something you don't bother to catch and yanks on your hair, pulling you closer against him. You can feel him arching his back against you, his fans whirring faster by the second. His heart is dripping into your mouth, filling it with strawberry-sweet liquid, but you don't care. Your head is spinning with how badly you want him to fuck you, and at this point you'll do anything to get it. He's getting close, you can feel it. Every time you suck on his heart, he moans, low in his throat, tensing up.

 

                "I- ah, fffuck, nn-!"

 

                He pulls you back suddenly, and you look up, liquid dripping down your chin. It takes him a moment to recover, closing his eyes and making a soft sound, and then he looks down at you, a slow-burning smirk spreading across his face that makes you fucking whimper.

 

                " _Please-_ "

 

                The whisper slips out from between your lips, desperate, and instantly hate yourself for it. He laughs, the noise bubbling up out of his chest. It pisses you off, but you hold yourself back. You've been tortured enough as it is. He pushes himself off the bed and steps around you, kneeling behind you. For a second, you consider turning to watch him, but you don't want to do anything that could lengthen his teasing. Instead, you sit there, waiting with your eyes closed and your cock painfully hard, waiting for him to touch you.

 

                After what seems like an eternity, his lips press against the base of your neck, and you shudder. His fingers follow the curve of your back, both hands tracing your waist and running up your sides. You lean back against him, taking your weight off your knees. It's a little awkward, with your arm and cannon in the way, but he shifts to support you. You let your head fall back to _thunk_ against his shoulder as he grazes his hands down over the tops of your thighs, making your hips twitch up. Keeping your teeth clenched doesn't do much to stifle the moan that pulls itself from your throat the second his hands dip down, running down the inside of your thighs. You press your eyes shut, whimpering softly, trying your best not to break down and beg him to fuck you. His fingertips graze up the underside of your cock, and your hips rock forward, a low groan dragging itself from your chest.

 

                "Hhha- fuck!"

 

                He laughs, low and rough, and you whine, rolling your hips up as best you can into his touch. No matter how hard you try, he keeps his fingers feather-light, driving you insane with want.

 

                "What is it you want, pet?"

 

                His voice is disgustingly sweet, but smooth and dominating in all the right places. You whine, hips rocking up against his hands, unwilling to give him what he wants. You're not that low. You're definitely not that low. You _want_ to beg him, you want to do anything to get him to fuck you, but you won't let yourself. Right?

 

                "Fuck, nngh, p-please..."

 

                Wrong.

 

                "Please what? You're going to have to do better than that."

 

                You let out a wordless moan, arching your back, desperate beyond belief.

 

                "Please fuck me, god, I need it so bad, fuck, _please_ -"

 

                He laughs again, dragging his nails up and down the inside of your thighs. You make a pathetic squeak, opening your legs wider, and he finally takes pity on you, one hand running up your pelvis to your heart, pressing at the center, the other slipping down flush against your body, curling around your dick. The noise that you make then can only be described as  a _wail,_ your entire body tensing all at once. Your head is spinning from the sudden pleasure, he's working his fingers against your heart in a way that drives you _crazy_ , and the way he's stroking you, slow and languid, makes you fucking melt. You're an absolute mess, moaning and gasping his name, hips rocking up into his hands.

 

                "Fffuck, faster, nn, _please, god-_ "

 

                "Why should I, hm?"

 

                He's still moving slowly, enough to drive you absolutely insane with need and pleasure, but nowhere near what you really want. You're struggling to form proper words, moans and little noises bubbling up between gaps in the syllables.

 

                "P-please, hhnngh, I need it _so fucking bad_ , god, ple-ease, fuck!"

 

                He makes a soft noise, and you can hear his fucking smugness in it. You don't want to think about that, about how easily he brought you down and reduced you to begging.

 

                "You're all bark and no bite, pet."

 

                With that, he speeds up, almost to a punishing speed, making you arch up harder than before and _scream_ his name. He's stroking you hard and fast, his fingers digging into your heart, and you can hear your fans trying to keep up with how much heat you're producing; your chest is heaving. You don't care, all you care about is his hands on you and the white-hot pleasure, ripping through your body like a tidal wave, sweeping you underneath. You're so fucking close already, and you moan just so, barely forming words so much as moaning louder and louder, crying out his name and begging him in a slur of words to fuck you. You start glitching, your voice skipping up and down octaves like it only does when you're about to come, and you can't help but let yourself go, static rushing through your mind and your voice.

 

                It hits you like a freight train, bringing forth the longest and loudest moan yet. It's full of jumps and skips, but you're not paying attention. You're too lost in the fog, your entire body tense and shaking, your thighs and pelvis stained with pink. Your fans are working overdrive to keep you from melting down, but honestly, at this point, you wouldn't care. Slowly, the fog starts to fade, and you come about, leaning limply against him. His arms are wrapped around you, his fans whirring in harmony with yours, several octaves lower. You can _feel_ how low on power you are, every movement taking double the effort it would normally.

 

                "So much for always being the one in control."

 

                He's teasing you, but you don't have enough energy to respond. He shifts, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, hands retreating to your back to sit you up. Right - the ropes. You had almost forgotten entirely about them. He unties them quickly, setting you free. Which isn't really worth much, considering you don't have much energy to do anything. He scoops you up, pressing another kiss to your jaw, and deposits you on the bed, neatly plugging you in.

 

                He climbs into bed next to you, connecting himself to power as well. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, he kisses the top of your head one more time.

 

                "Oh, hey, Neo?"

 

                You grunt, sleepily looking up at him. He's smirking again, a twinkle in his eye.

 

                "You owe me one."

 

                To that, you mumble something incomprehensible that can be roughly translated to _'fuck you and the horse you rode in on'_ and power down, the world fading to black around you.        

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: mtx.tumblr.com


End file.
